


Soldier down!

by vestty (tsitrin)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Season/Series 01, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsitrin/pseuds/vestty
Summary: “It’s always been us. It has to be now. I’d like to think that ‘our side’ trumps any head office out there or what they have to say about it."Our favourite celestials sort out their shit. Not very effectively, however.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	1. Paintball

**Author's Note:**

> rated teen & up for future content!!!  
> there may be bloodshed-  
> and... dreaded angst.  
> this is my first fic in a very long while, so let me know your thoughts!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Crowley! For heaven’s sake, do something! I-I’ll discorporate in no time at this rate-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first good omens fic!! had to after my second rewatch of the series

“Angel.”

“Oh god, I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding! _Crowley!_ ”

“Angel…”

The principality looked down at his vest and rubbed his shaky hands frantically over the pool of red, only spreading it further. He knelt behind the nearest bush, popping his head up to check if anyone was there, then proceeded to flail about in panic, his helmet almost falling from his head.

Crowley, the bastard, was looking at Aziraphale as if it were the funniest thing he’d witnessed this millennia. He crouched beside the angel, his weapon lowered, and his face contorted in a sort of _trying-hopelessly-not-to-howl-with-laughter_. Aziraphale furrowed his brows and searched desperately for any sign of sanity in his partner’s eyes.

“Crowley! For heaven’s sake, do something! I-I’ll discorporate in no time at this rate-”

Aziraphale’s eyes followed the demon’s figure as it darted towards him. He sat in front of the angel and tried not to squeal at the misunderstanding.

“Seriously? Come _on_ , It’s paint! We’re playing a game of paintball, are we not? You’ve fallen, Aziraphale. Soldier down!”

After receiving nothing but a puzzled look from his feathered friend, Crowley paused to inspect the genuine reaction in awe. He laughed.

Hysterically.

Aziraphale swivelled his head around to check if anyone might’ve heard his criminally insane company and looked back to see Crowley practically on the floor. His hands flopped in defeat.

“Oh, I knew this was a bad idea. Why did you tempt me to a game of paintball, of all things? We’ve had our _experience_ if one could call it that. Let’s go home. I’m feeling a bit peckish after all this anyway.”

Crowley’s ears pricked up at the word ‘home.’

He rose from his spot on the muddy ground and lifted his helmet, comically wiping a tear from his eyes with the back of his pointer. A wide smile across his face, he teased the angel.

“Alright, well I don’t know how we’re going _anywhere_ considering you’re dead and all.”

Aziraphale scowled at Crowley and stood up, removing his helmet, throwing it at the nearest person who dared aim their gun at him. Crowley staggered upwards, jogging to catch up with the angel’s angered march towards the exit.

“I explained the rules on the way here, Aziraphale! Surely you got the gist of the sport?” Crowley sounded like a mother lecturing her child after his first game of cricket.

The silent treatment it was, then.

“Alright, okay, forget about it.” Blocking his way out of the joint, Crowley stood before the angel and gripped his shoulders.

“Let’s just go get some lunch, eh? There’s a nice sushi place a few minutes from here. I’ll take the blame for this one. It’ll be on me.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped as he resigned from unleashing wrath upon the demon before him. “Fine, but the only thing you said on the way here was to ‘not get hit by flying spheres of goop and she’ll be right,’ but I couldn’t hear you anyway over that _blasted_ -!”

Crowley had already released his hostage and was on the way to the Bentley parked ahead of them. He’d started walking mid-sentence. Aziraphale sighed.

✵✵✵

It wasn’t a pleasant day outside – the clouds hung shyly among the flat grey of the sky and the sun seemed to be hiding behind it – but Aziraphale and Crowley could dine during a hurricane if they really wanted to. Nothing could get between their lunches. Although it was usually just _Aziraphale, the Consumer of Three Courses_ and Crowley observing in amusement, it was necessary.

He’d just ordered an assortment of sushi rolls and other varied seafood for the two of them, but Crowley himself had only eaten a grand total of one spicy inari and avocado roll. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind and ate the rest of the food for himself. Crowley sat with his head propped up on one arm, grinning as Aziraphale let out a content little noise and wiped his face with his serviette.

“That was just delicious.” Aziraphale breathed. “I think I’ll have to forgive you for the terrible day out.” He neatly tucked the fabric into his front pocket.

“Wasn’t _that_ bad. Pretty sure I hit some poor fellow’s eye, at some point.” Crowley adjusted his position and took a sip of whatever beverage they were drinking. He then set it down, feeling Aziraphale’s glare.

“What? It was funny! And you, what with your insane paranoia that you’d discorporate and all.” He mused.

“Not a laughing matter, Crowley!” Aziraphale pouted. “Now that we’re on the outs with our respective head offices, who knows what’d happen if we were to actually… well you know, die. They wouldn’t just hand us new bodies on a silver platter, would they?”

Crowley settled into a neutral frown as he contemplated Aziraphale’s point.

“I wouldn’t let that happen to you, angel.” His gaze lingered for a few moments before he rose, making his way over to the counter to pay for their meal. Aziraphale was taken back by the sincerity in the demon’s voice.

“You are my best friend, after all.” Crowley muttered quietly.

✵✵✵

Things had happened. Copious amounts of them, Aziraphale concluded, as he sat pondering at his desk. He put down the third book in his new collection (courtesy of Adam) and removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. Something grips his heart at that moment. He remembers the fire.

After discorporating, Aziraphale had appeared to Crowley in a bar. It was the first place he went without a corporeal form.

Crowley was _wasted_. He was barely intelligible, as he’d just lost his best friend. Aziraphale knows this because Crowley had said it himself.

His best friend. Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley was capable of having such a thing. He needed to know immediately who it was, and what happened. There was too much going on then to properly consult the demon about it, at the time – at least, that’s what he told himself.

Crowley picked up the phone as soon as it rang.

“Did you forget your pocket-watch or something?” he poked.

“Crowley.” The angel uttered his name fondly. “Could you come over? I would like to discuss something with you, if at all convenient.”

It wasn’t convenient. At all. Crowley was in the process of worrying about his word choices and how completely useless he is at choosing appropriate day trips. And he was seriously considering redecorating his entire apartment – but not in the traditional sense.

“Could we take a rain check? Now’s not really a good time. Or a bad time. Now’s not the time,” Crowley managed to get out. He regretted the words as soon they came out of his mouth. 

“I must insist, dear. It’s about something that happened before the _Apoca-wasn’t._ ”

Great. This was exactly what Crowley needed to break in the new ‘our side’ arrangement. Why did he have to deal with this right now? Couldn’t they just coexist and let that be enough?

“I’ll be there in a bit.”


	2. Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could Aziraphale possibly want to discuss at quarter-past nine? Doesn’t the bugger have a bedtime?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes.  
> there's so much that goes unspoken between these two. the whole 'best friend' situation is so hard for Aziraphale to grasp while Crowley basically lives off it. Aziraphale needs to wake up and smell the roses, I think.  
> thanks for the kudos! love u guys

This was bad. Holy _shit_ was this bad.

Before the Apoca-wasn’t? That’s done, finished, didn’t need to be revised. Not a tad, Crowley thought, and he’d rather be doing absolutely _anything_ in this moment than locking his apartment door and making his way to the Bentley. Granted, he didn’t _need_ to take the Bentley at all but just liked the novelty of being behind the wheel of the car that he _owned_. It also gave him time to think.

What could Aziraphale possibly want to discuss at quarter-past nine? Doesn’t the bugger have a bedtime? Does he sleep? Has he lost sleep, thinking about this burning question he has for Crowley? He doubts it.

There wasn’t one thing Crowley could think of right now that the angel would want to talk about – so he drove, waking each sleeping household he passed with his obnoxiously loud 'b-bop.'

✵✵✵

Slamming the car door without an inch of grace after haphazardly parking in front of the book shop, Crowley stumbled out of his ride. He observed the front of the place, Aziraphale just beyond the reflective glass. In idle study, as always.

Crowley felt the need to adjust his glasses and clear his throat before approaching the door. Proceeded to walk directly in, however, seeing as he’d waited long enough to discover what he was being interrogated about.

“We’re clos- “

The serpent froze, hands shoved reflexively in his pockets, peering pointedly at his friend.

“Crowley! What took you so long?” Aziraphale ditched his reading glasses and abandoned the chair, moving towards his visitor.

“How’s the new collection, angel?” Crowley nodded towards the display of bright red. “Closing a bit later than 9pm, are we?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Don’t mind the _closed_ sign on the door, then.”

“Oh.” Crowley replied sheepishly.

“Anyway, kindly take a seat will you?”

The demon obeyed, taking a few moments to actually acknowledge the whereabouts of the nearest chair. Sitting uncomfortably, his back was straighter than usual, and his hands rested firmly on either leg.

“What’s this about, then?” Crowley avoided Aziraphale’s worried gaze.

The angel didn’t recite what he was going to say at all. He thought to invite his friend over, and all would sort itself out from there on in. He was horribly wrong. Aziraphale stuttered before taking a seat in front of Crowley and looked just as out of place as the demon did.

“You remember the night you said my shop had burnt down?”

Crowley nodded.

“When I came to you in the bar after discorporating, you were- well, drunk. You were drunk, Crowley, and not by the usual amount.”

Crowley shifted and looked up at the angel. He thinks he knows where this is going.

“I want to know... who was your best friend? The one that you said you’d lost that day. Looked awfully torn up about it, not like I’d seen before.”

If this conversation weren’t the stupidest thing he’d ever partaken in, Crowley didn’t know what was. He shot the angel a look of disbelief. He couldn’t _not_ know, could he? _Really._

The bloke visibly relaxed. Took off his tinted glasses, leant back and let out all the held-in contents of his lungs. He inspected the angel, not sure whether to laugh or cry or yell.

“Do you actually think,” Crowley started, “that I could form a single meaningful relationship with _anyone_ in this galaxy apart from you, angel? You, who puts up with my bullshit century in and century out without as much as an attempt on my forsaken life? We’re a bloody angel and a demon, for Satan’s-” He opened his mouth to make some sort of noise but bit down on his knuckles instead. Aziraphale was as confused as ever and silently questioned the demon with a look.

“It was you, Aziraphale. You were the best friend. I thought you were gone – for good this time.”

“That can’t be- “

“You _are_ my best friend. Not were. And I have no idea how you didn’t pick up on that after- _how many years?_ ” It was a near-genuine question.

The angel was flabbergasted!

“But- best friends, Crowley?” Aziraphale retreated, looking as if he were about to cry. “You really consider us as best friends?” _How could he have been so wrong?_

“Yes, I happen to do so completely.” Crowley gave the angel a brief, hopeless glance. “The fact that you have to ask is exactly why I didn’t make a fuss of it.”

The tension in the room thickly polluted their now less-than-futile oxygen.

“I don’t know if I _know_ what it means to be a best friend,” Aziraphale stated. “But I suppose, I’d consider you the same on my end. I just, always thought that our differences were a barrier between that title, if you know what I mean.” The angel tried to explain his reasoning. Why did he have to see everything so black and white?

“Does it _look_ like I know what you mean?” Crowley gestured inwards.

“It’s always been us. It _has_ to be now. I’d like to think that ‘our side’ trumps any head office out there or what they have to say about it.” Crowley slumped forwards and locked eyes with his friend.

“You know we can do whatever the fuck we want now, right? There’s no one expecting reports from us. No one ordering us against each other. We can just _be_. We can have lunch whenever we want, for someone’s sake! We can feed the ducks at whatever park we choose, and not because we have to inconspicuously discuss some aspect of our _arrangement._ ” The demon combed his fingers through his hair.

“Because you know, angel, _that_ wasn’t the only aspect of our relationship, don’t you? We have things in common, we _tolerate_ each other. We enjoy each other’s company, don’t we?”

Aziraphale crossed his arms and looked vacantly past the demon before him.

“Angel?”

“I know, Crowley, I know. What happens when we can’t _just be_ , though? You said yourself that this isn’t over. That the worst is yet to come.”

“Then, we figure it out. Like we’ve been doing from the start.”

Crowley could practically taste the stress and conflict emanating from the angel’s features. He got up, hid his yellow eyes, and gave out a heavy sigh. “Live, Aziraphale. Just live. Let me know when you’re ready to start.”

“Start, Crowley?” The angel inquired.

“ _Yesss, start!_ You’ve been living under someone else, or someone else’s _someone else_ for your whole life, Aziraphale! What do you want from this world? What do you want for yourself?”

He couldn’t answer. Crowley know he couldn’t.

The demon left and drove the same way he came.

✵✵✵

Aziraphale was frozen in place for a good couple of minutes after Crowley left. By a couple of minutes, one could infer that he sat there for hours.

The angel didn’t know what it was like to live without orders. Without a schedule, without the incessant patronization from Gabriel or one of the other angels. He looked at Crowley and saw something unattainable – being himself under his own terms; playing the system for what it was. Greedy celestials who wanted nothing more than recognition and praise, promotion – ‘climbing the ladder.’

The angel realises that he himself wanted nothing more than that at one stage in his life, and he doesn’t know how to move past it. Crowley didn’t ever crave praise. He just wanted to live.

Aziraphale needed to know what it was like. To live. For himself, and no one else. Where on Earth was he to start?


	3. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain is a funny thing. When you aren’t supposed to feel it in the first place, the experience is that much more horrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a longer chapter! altercations ensue.

Celestials had plenty of time to think. By nature, being immortal just so happens to give the gift that never stops giving. Dastardly, wretched _thinking_. No, they didn’t _have_ to think at all. Angels were simply required to follow God’s will and demons aimed to oppose it – need there really be any room for sentimentality?

Stupidly bizarre, for one angel and one demon to find themselves in somewhat of a codependent relationship when they never should’ve met in the first place.

Two that certainly never should have colluded: _demons_ and _feelings._ Terrifying emotion. Intricate parasites of the mind. Crowley sank so deep into his throne that night that he almost became one of the four legs it was standing on. His chest ached, his yin took up arms with his yang, and he needed a bloody coffee. Or a scotch. Or both.

Useless, Crowley seemed to believe all this was. How many nights had he woefully reminisced The Fall? How many times had he fucked up everything with his angel? It all seemed to blend together into one large, great big pool of nothing.

The years leading up to this had all been the same. Aziraphale took his orders and allowed the occasional temptation from Crowley, but now that they have each other all to themselves? His angel still anticipated praise and craved structure. The demon understood that, but doesn’t he _see?_

Crowley’s telephone was only there to be hovered over. He wanted to punch in Aziraphale’s number and wipe that conflict (that he put there) right off the angel’s face, but he didn’t. Instead, he planned to drink until he forgot every planet in the solar system.

Dread latched on to his bones and seeped its claws into his very soul. The demon slouched as far back as he could into his throne and dragged a hand down his face in grief. Crowley wanted nothing more than to slither away and forget the last six thousand years or so. He doesn’t think he’s capable of putting into words – oh, bugger this. The demon needed to go. Anywhere. Even if he had to blindly stumble out of his apartment to do so.

✵✵✵

It was as if a phantom had passed through the bookshop. The dimly lit shelves and reflective glass closed in on the angel, like every decision he’d ever made had suddenly come crawling back to haunt him. He’d been too busy burying his nose in humanity to fully appreciate the most real person he’d ever known. Realer than any autobiography or prophecy – _Crowley._

The demon gave himself to the angel time and time again. He was selfless; a quality which _no_ demon in all of the far depths of hell have any right to possess.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if any of his own life had really been his to live at all. There was truth to the demon’s enlightenment. Gabriel was around every corner with his bullshit holier-than-thou attitude and Aziraphale, the pushover he was, tried every day to earn admiration from beings who were simply not capable of giving it. How stupid he had been. Every order, every mission was only to benefit this great “plan” that no one really knew anything about.

Right there and then, Aziraphale wanted to take Crowley into his arms and apologise for being so utterly daft. _‘Their side’_ sprouted in the Garden and bloomed from there on in. Crowley entered consecrated ground for the angel and had the sheer audacity to save his books (which the demon lacked any personal fondness for) just to save the angel. And some! All those miracles Crowley performed for the angel. The times Aziraphale swapped places with the demon and didn’t quite mind it. The principality felt something bubbling at the seams. He stood and sought out the phone, almost smashing the thing.

Crowley didn’t pick up. Well, that’s normal, isn’t it? The angel called again. He bit his fingernails anxiously as the other side rang out. There was no point in leaving a message. Aziraphale wanted to see his demon.

✵✵✵

“Alright there, mate?”

The demon shot the barkeep a nasty look, slamming down his seventeenth shot of vodquila.

“I _will_ be as soon as you fetch me another drink, mortal!” Serpentine eyes burned dandelion behind tinted shades. The bartender looked unimpressed but did as his customer commanded.

Crowley’s table quaked as a bald drunk in his mid-thirties jostled past roughly. The demon hissed as he bumped against the wall, one of the glasses falling to the ground. “Fuck’s sake- “

The man watched the glass shatter. He looked down at Crowley with malicious intent.

“Gonna clean that up, old geezer?”

Pub tunes were way too loud right now for Crowley to be insulted by the remark. His vision blurred, speech slurred, and he had no idea who the current Prime Minister was.

“Whatt?” Crowley found himself staring at the top of the man’s head. “…’s that on _purpose?_ ”

Two older men and a woman came out of the bathroom chuckling like they just had a jolly good time – faces shifting into bricks as the woman left and they noticed Crowley picking on their buddy. The demon gave a brief glance backwards. “That’d be right,” he snorted.

Baldie grabbed Crowley by the collar. “Don’t be smart with me, fella. Starting something? We’d be happy to oblige.”

Crowley shirked the man’s grasp and faced him. “ _Ssure…_ ”

He meant to say, _‘are you sure you want to, idiot?’_ but it came out as a weak, neutral answer to the man’s proposal. The two older men came up behind Crowley’s chair and pulled it out from under him. He shrieked, hitting his head on the corner of the table as he fell, landing in a pile of broken glass. Crowley groaned, wiping blood from his forehead, licking it to ‘ _check if it was real_.’

“He’s lost it, mate. Let’s leave it alone?” One of the older blokes chimed in. “All the more reason to show him a great time, innit?”

The bartender was out.

✵✵✵

Pain is a funny thing. When you aren’t supposed to feel it in the first place, the experience is that much more horrid.

The men had taken Crowley outside. He’d sustained punches and blows to almost his entire body from two of them, one holding him against the wall. Crowley had been healing himself after the first few minutes, but his ability was barely useful when he was this bloody drunk.

So, he thought; what the hell. Let them have their fun. The demon would most definitely be a shut-in for the next few days anyway, and he needed something _physical_ to feel along with his inner agony.

Their fists collided with his face and stomach, sending immediate tendrils of pain up Crowley’s spine. His glasses were long gone by now, stomped on and disregarded entirely. The men hadn’t noticed the demon’s strange eyes and if they did, they didn’t care. It was a beating. They’d beat it out of him.

It wasn’t comfortable. It got to the point where Crowley was not excited about the amount of blood that was flowing out of his nose. He didn’t want to discorporate, not like this. A demon has to be a demon, eventually.

He un-drank some alcohol into a few nearby empty bottles but it wasn’t nearly enough to sober him up entirely. Feeling a tad more lucid, Crowley attempted to wriggle free from the man’s grip but to no avail. The man only held him down tighter, crushing his arms against the stone wall behind him. Lovely.

Kicking against his attackers, the demon struggled. “Finally decided to join in, have we?” They spat in his face. Never has he been this helpless.

They knocked him to his knees and pushed him back violently against the wall.

Crowley decided to get creative. He un-drank his alcohol and filled the men’s insides with the stuff. Surprisingly, it seemed to have worked. The men were now becoming more sluggish, slowing to a stop, and collapsing at the amount of alcohol their livers would have to sift through. In retrospect, the amount Crowley drank would be enough to kill a man, so it’s a good job there were three of them.

He shoved the limp men from his body and stood, almost tripping over the lot of them. Needed a moment to recall how he got here, what time it was and why he thought it would be a good idea to get piss drunk on a Tuesday night.

✵✵✵

Crowley wasn’t at his apartment. Aziraphale had miracled himself there to find the door open and the Bentley missing from the usual spot. He thought the demon would at least have the decency to lock his own door… what if someone were to break in? Whisper sweet nothings to his houseplants?

Aziraphale heard the familiar buzz of the demon’s ride and swivelled around to greet him. As soon as Crowley staggered out of the car, the angel frowned. Crowley’s glasses barely covered the bruise on his left cheek and there was clear evidence of an altercation. His clothes were bloody and messy, hair ruffled. There had been traces of a nosebleed.

The angel was speechless. Had he done this to himself? No, he must have gotten into a fight. Crowley walked right past the angel like he wasn’t there and entered his apartment, obviously distressed.

“Wait! Crowley, where were you?”

“Out.” He kept walking, tossing his keys to the nearest surface. He was going to sit down if they were to have any sort of conversation right now.

Aziraphale waddled inside, closing the door behind him. He found Crowley sitting on his chair, head laid back against the cushion.

“Are you alright?” the angel asked, softly.

Crowley laughed feebly. He removed his glasses, setting them down in front of him. “You should go home, Aziraphale.”

“No!”

The demon looked over at him, eyes wide.

“What, did you get hit by a truck or something? You look terrible, Crowley!” The angel approached Crowley to inspect his injuries, only to be met with a slight flinch when his angelic hands approached the wounded face.

“Don’t worry about it. Just some dickheads at the pub.”

“ _Dickheads_ plural?”

“Three.”

Aziraphale sighed, magicking a chair for him to sit on in front of Crowley’s desk. He planted himself there and analysed his friend worriedly. “I really do hope you attempted to fight back.”

The demon wasn’t looking at him. “For the most part. Was a bit wasted to actually process what was going on. Some bald bloke seemed to have it out for me.” He grinned, averting his attention to the angel before him. It hurt to move.

“The whole healing thing wasn’t working out. Guess I’m gonna have to rock the badass shtick for a few days, hey.”

The angel was not impressed.

“It’s not _badass,_ Crowley! What if you were to discorporate? I don’t want to lose my best friend! You have to be more careful, just- “

“Best friend, Aziraphale?” An air of hope loomed about the question.

“Yes, Crowley. It’s only ever been you. I’m stupid to have not seen it sooner.”

Crowley smiled, genuinely. “You mean that?”

“Yes, you bastard! Now let me fix you up.”


	4. A Life Worth Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose I have been overthinking things.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of earth around him. He felt the stress melt away from his muscles - finally, he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. He was right next to his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter to finish us off.  
> this was a joy to write, although not as long as I would've liked - thank you to all the people who have left kudos! I greatly appreciate it :)

Angels can do whatever they want. They’re goddamn miracle workers. Got a broken leg? No problem, one snap from the winged buggers and your bones are fully healed. That is why, when Aziraphale heaved the most ridiculously sized first-aid kit Crowley had ever seen onto the desk in front of him, it was something to marvel at.

He had it all, really. Band-aids, tweezers, those tacky little thermometers for when your child is running a fever. If his lungs weren’t collapsing, Crowley doesn’t think he’d be able to contain his laughter.

“Sit tight, dear.” Aziraphale carefully removed the demon’s shades and winced at the bruising around his friend’s eye. He rose an antiseptic-doused cotton swab to Crowley’s cheek and dabbed the wound gently.

Crowley hissed in recoil. “Is it _sssupposed_ to ssting?”

“It is if you don’t want an infection! Be quiet and let me work…”

The demon gave a quick nod and let Aziraphale treat him. He wanted to ask why he was being doctored like a civilian and not miracled to wellness, but thought he’d made enough trouble.

Aziraphale reached into his comically large kit and retrieved a suitable plaster for the demon’s injury. There were smaller abrasions to his face – to these, the angel applied extra care and cleaned them thoroughly, deeming them unworthy of a covering.

“Any broken ribs or anything of the sort?”

“Probably. It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Crowley lied.

To be sure, the angel ran a hand over Crowley’s ribcage. There was a faint glow underneath the demon’s clothes as his bones were audibly mended.

“Why didn’t you do that for-“ the demon made a circular gesture around his own face.

“Does it really bother you so? I can heal your other injuries too if you wish.” Aziraphale offered.

“No, no. It’s fine.”

There was a comfortable silence. The angel shifted in his seat.

“I actually like the novelty of human first-aid. It brings me great satisfaction.”

“In that case, I should go out more often.” Crowley jokes.

“Oh, Crowley. That’s not what I meant!”

“It’s okay, angel. I know perfectly well what you meant.” The demon stood, almost hijacking himself at the absence of pain in his ribs. He poured himself a glass of wine and offered Aziraphale the other. The angel took the beverage and gave Crowley a grateful smile.

Leaning against the edge of his desk, Crowley sipped the red liquid. He placed the glass down and immediately regretted the idea of consuming more alcohol. Aziraphale noticed the disgust on his friend’s face.

“Crowley? What’s wrong, dear?”

The demon adjusted his stance and regarded Aziraphale. “Not feeling it, actually.”

Aziraphale followed suit and set his glass down. He remembers why he came to Crowley’s in the first place. Before he had to play doctor. The angel stood, catching Crowley’s attention.

“About what you said earlier. At the bookshop.”

“Yeah?”

Before continuing, Aziraphale took a moment to think. About what he was going to say, and what he wanted from this relationship. The angel was rather keen on the demon and if he were going to live, it would be with him. He wanted to lead his own life. Who better to do it with than a self-serving demon like Crowley? Although, he knew that wasn’t true. Crowley was hardly self-serving.

“Let’s start.”

“Start..?” Realisation dawned on the demon’s features quickly. He approached Aziraphale with abandon and held the angel's face in his hands.

“With me, angel?”

Aziraphale grinned. “With you. I want you to teach me how to live… if you’d be so kind.”

Crowley’s whole world hiccupped. This is the moment he’d been waiting for. Years of uncertainty, waiting. Wavering. Pure joy wriggled its way into his heart and made a home there.

The demon wrapped his arms around Aziraphale in a tight hug. “Gladly. Gladly, Aziraphale.”  
Surprised but not overwhelmed, the angel returned the embrace.

He was sure he could hear Crowley sobbing. Aziraphale wordlessly ran circles into the demon’s back and held him for as long as he needed it. Crowley was grateful for this.

✵✵✵

God’s green Earth is full of scenic clearings ideal for any picnic – Crowley just happened to choose one populated with ducks. There was a nearby river, winding around the seemingly endless grassland. It was littered with trees and bushes, wildlife traversing the water to get to the other side, ducklings swimming in procession behind their elder. Ducks that looked like they were out of a children’s picture story book.

Crowley brought a large, Scottish tartan rug for them to sit on. Piled it high with cakes, fruit, bread, biscuits, and the like. He’d also brought wine.

It was a certain step up from the last outing.

Aziraphale sat in a civilised manner with his legs crossed, tan coat splayed over the top of an empty wine bottle. On the other side of the basket, Crowley laid with his back to the rug, propped up on two arms, wide grin across his face.

“It all comes down to this, angel.” His crimson hair waved about in the wind, yellow eyes outshining the sun.

“We get to sit here and enjoy the planet that still exists because of _us._ It’s that simple.” His head lazily swayed towards the angel. “Just you and me, buddy.”

‘Twas a few hours from dusk the sky was a beautiful blue-orange.

A flock of birds flew overhead and marked their passing with a chorus of squawks. Not one drop of shite landed on either of the celestial’s heads. Must’ve been a message from above.

“I suppose I have been overthinking things.” Aziraphale closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of earth around him. He felt the stress melt away from his muscles - finally, he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. He was right next to his _best friend_.

“I am glad it was you, Crowley,” the angel chuckled. “If I’d stumbled across any other demon in the Garden…” he shook his head and smiled.

“You’re lost without me, angel!” Crowley mocked.

“Stop it, you.”

They shared a pleasant glance, Crowley raising his now-filled wine glass for a toast.

“To life, Aziraphale.”

A faint _chink_ rang through the air.

“To us.”


End file.
